


the hearts of men

by SnorkleShit



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Conversations, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, jenzekiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:53:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnorkleShit/pseuds/SnorkleShit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation in the darkness of the theatre leaves both Ezekiel and Jenkins with more questions then answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the hearts of men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [graysonsen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/graysonsen/gifts), [alottlehomo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alottlehomo/gifts).



Suffice it to say, Ezekiel Jones disliked reading. He didn't _hate_ it, per se. But he definitely didn't enjoy it, and he avoided it whenever possible. He was also horribly slow at it. 

But he was a Librarian now. And it was getting increasingly frustrating to be called out whenever he didn't know something about history or literature. He just...had never had a reason to care before. But now he did, and he had decided he’d do his best to remedy the situation somewhat without wasting his time struggling through all the books in the Reading Room. 

The solution? Documentaries. He had set up the theatre room with Internet and Netflix a while after Prospero’s exorcism. Whenever he had spare time - making sure nobody would discover him actually trying to educate himself - he watched as many documentaries regarding history and myths as he could. Half of them weren't that boring, to be honest. He found himself particularly engrossed in a documentary about the Dancing Plague. People randomly dancing until they died? Seemed like medieval England was a lot  
more turnt than he’d ever known. He shoveled gummy worms in his mouth as he reclined in the cushioned seat. The woman’s voice droned on as artwork and graphics spread across the screen in slowly panning movements that would make Ken Burns proud. 

_“It is widely believed the mania was caused by a mass psychogenic illness brought about by the religious and social pressures of the time period…”_ The woman went on to explain, and Ezekiel snorted. So, like Footloose, but deadly? 

“That's not what really happened.” Came a familiar and unexpected voice from  
Behind. Ezekiel let out a curse of surprise as he jumped, and his bag of gummy worms went flying every which way. Ezekiel whirled to find Jenkins walking down the aisle towards him. 

“What are you doing here?” Ezekiel asked. Jenkins raised an eyebrow as he took a seat next to the youngest Librarian. 

“Well I, unlike the lot of you, happen to legitimately live here. What are you doing here, watching something so mind numbing and inaccurate?” Jenkins inquired, gesturing up at the screen. 

“Not as mind numbing as books!” Ezekiel protested. Jenkins tilted his head, giving Ezekiel that look as if he knew everything the thief could never know. 

“Ah. So that's what this is about. Feeling a tad out of your depth?” Jenkins asked primly. Ezekiel’s hackles raised.

“Mate, I'm _never_ out of my depth!” He scoffed, with an air of careless confidence. A momentum that could not be brought down by gravity.

“A man may say that until he can say nothing at all.” Jenkins mused, in a poetic way of speaking that both made Ezekiel’s spine shudder and his mouth sour. “That is to say, you’ve gotta hit a wall at some point.” 

Ezekiel crossed his arms. “I've never met a wall I couldn't get through, around, under or over.” Memories of burning red eyes and blood surfaced, in the recesses of his mind. He pushed them far away, back into the darkness. 

Jenkins shrugged, returning his attention to the screen to give it a large frown. “Well, regardless, this method of learning is not sufficient. The vast majority of these are entirely inaccurate. Both because most things were caused by supernatural events, and because even those that where scientific per se, scientists are always proving themselves wrong.” Jenkins told him matter of factly.

Ezekiel crossed his arms, burrowing back into his seat a little more. “Oh, and I bet you know what this was really all about then?” He asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Jenkins retorted.

“Well, how about you enlighten me?” Ezekiel prompted. Jenkins sat up a little straighter, and ran his shaky hand through his hair. 

“I’m not busy at the moment, so I suppose it would not be a horrible waste of time to give you insight. It was less a psychogenic illness, and more the meddling of Dionysus going through what i’d have to call a midlife crisis.” Jenkins explained. Ezekiel’s eyebrows approached the arcing ceiling. 

“Isn’t that a greek god?” He asked. Jenkins nodded. “And by that, i’m going to assume the god’s are _real_?” He asked incredulously.

“Indeed. What many cultures have called their pantheon of gods are entities, much like Santa, that embody certain personified aspects of the world. They are at the mercy of how humans interpret them, and the majority of their power comes from the faith humans have put into them. Much like Santa, each incarnation of them has a talisman to focus that image. To represent them. Many of the gods have lost that vast majority of human faith, and have become extremely weak, if not ceasing to exist altogether. At some point, a large amount of them became too weak to even wield their own talismans. The Library made a job of gathering all of those powerful artifacts and keeping them safe - gods forbid they end up in the hands of mortals. No pun intended.” Jenkins carried on explaining, giving a gesture of his hand up towards an nonexistent heaven.

“That’s all the stuff that was in the Antiquities Room?” Ezekiel said, half a question and half a self assured realization. Jenkins nodded.

“You’ve first hand witnessed their power. Very important things to make sure stay put. But as for this so-called Dancing Plague, that was Dionysus. God of wine and parties, but also god of madness. Being the sort of entities they are - as you saw with Santa - they are extremely volatile. And not all of them can be considered necessarily good. One might say it is a good thing that they have been so weakened - the havoc they wreaked upon the earth, at the will of the subconscious interpretations of mortals, was devastating. Although, I must say, some of them were rather enjoyable. Zeus, Jupiter, Amun, he could be unpleasant. Especially in the form of Zeus. Imagine a super powered, egotistical god of fraternity boys. Poseidon was fun to go fishing with, but his mood changed at the drop of a pin. Hades was always my favorite, we often played chess. I always won. He wasn’t even bitter about the fact.” Jenkins voice slowly grew less matter of fact, and more nostalgic as he went. It did something to Ezekiel’s chest he didn’t understand, to watch the caretaker’s eyes grow soft and glow with a warm, distant spark. They had both forgotten about the documentary up on the screen. 

 

“You hung out with gods a lot?” Ezekiel asked, enraptured by that spark in his eyes and the idea of an immortal man playing chess with the god of the underworld. Jenkins smiled slightly, adjusting how he was sitting to lean back in the seat. Letting himself sink into memory and the past, for once. 

“Indeed. People like me, we tend to fall in with such crowds.” Jenkins said, shrugging slightly. 

“What was Hermes like?” Ezekiel asked, unable not to wonder about the god he had always considered his favorite. From the ones he knew of, of course. Jenkins looked away, and Ezekiel swore he saw him _blush_. The tinge of pink over his weathered skin intrigued Ezekiel further, and he found himself leaning slightly forward. In some anticipation.

“He was...lively. Bright. Quick.” Jenkins said evenly, reaching to straighten his jacket. Ezekiel cocked his head slightly.

“Quick?” He prodded.

“Quick-witted, quick to move, quick to speak the truth, quick to comprehend. The god of thieves, yes, but also of travelers and messages. To me, I always considered him the god of connections. Between people. The god of answers, or moreover, of the search. An interesting niche for one to fill.” Jenkins said, voice a little softer.

“He certainly filled some _interesting niches_.” Ezekiel said smugly, grinning from ear to ear. 

Jenkin’s head turned to him. “Excuse me?” He said, feathers ruffled. Ezekiel gave a laugh, and punched Jenkins lightly on the shoulder.

“You dog. You had a fling with the wing-shoes guy.” He said, laughing lightly again. Jenkins shifted in his seat, lifting his chin haughtily. He turned to look back ahead again.

“It was more than a - then a _fling_.” Jenkins said, nearly protesting to the casual manner of the word. Ezekiel’s laughs left him, and he quirked his eyebrows again.

“Oh. I see.” Seriousness suddenly pervaded the space between them. Ezekiel swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Where is he now?” 

“Gone. Ceased to exist. He was a minor god, quickly forgotten in the heart’s of men.” Jenkins said, and Ezekiel internally blanched. He glanced back at the screen, suddenly feeling as if he had crossed a line. Something had to be said, done. 

“Do you miss him?” Ezekiel asked, sure that that was what people said in these types of situations. 

“I miss a lot of people. And one day, i’ll miss you.” Jenkins replied, w slight break in his voice. 

“You will?” Ezekiel asked, genuinely taken aback. Jenkins once again turned to look at him. He looked Ezekiel up and down.

“Why does that surprise you?” He asked. “Granted, I was a step down the rung from hostile at the start, but it has been a good while since I have shown anything other than comradery.” 

Ezekiel now felt as if he was the one over-exposed. It was his turn to look away. 

“I’ve made a point to never be someone worth missing.” Was the most casual way he could express a fraction of the feelings beneath his surface. 

“You cannot know what is in the hearts of men, unless you ask.” Jenkins said, words ringing in repetition of his earlier statement. Ezekiel shrugged, shaking his head.

“It’s not very disputable.” He replied. Jenkins huffed, and shook his own head. 

“You really are quite stubborn, aren’t you?” Jenkins sighed.

“It’s one of my more admirable traits.” Ezekiel carried on his casual words, while trying to prode against the underlying tension that defined the atmosphere. “What do you mean in specific, mate?” He asked.

“You are too stubborn to even consider the possibility that the people here genuinely care about you.” Jenkins said pointedly. Ezekiel’s jaw tightened.

“There’s a difference between being stubborn and stupid.” Ezekiel snapped, a sudden edge to him. Jenkins did not seem harmed by it. He merely sighed again, and slowly stood up.

“You have to accept it sooner or later. Stubbornness is not immortal, I of all people know as much. Alas, as for me, romance - fling or otherwise - is something long behind me.” Jenkins announced, straightening his jacket. The thief watched the immortal walk away down the aisle, hesitation playing games with his anxious heart. He recalled the video game loop, the days after repetitive days of his friends dying. But beyond all that, he allowed himself to recall the countless conversations, countless experiences he had shared with them. He let his mind wander over his time at the Library, and then back even farther. To cold nights and tender bruises. 

“Jenkins?” He called out, standing up. Jenkins halted at the door, turning back to look at the young man’s outline against the light of the screen. Like a shadow of it’s own momentum. 

“Yes, Mr. Jones?” He responded. 

“Is romance really behind you?” Ezekiel found himself asking, swallowing once more past a lump in his throat. Jenkins’ face was guarded by the shadows of the theatre and by distance, so Ezekiel had no luck reading his expression.

“I have eternity bound to my soul, Mr. Jones.” Jenkins said, after a deafening beat of silence. “Nothing and everything is behind me.” His tone was distance, and contemplative. It was breath of a promise. An undefined one, but a promise nonetheless. 

“I’d like to hear more, sometime.” Ezekiel said, running a shaky hand through his hair. “About the things you’ve seen.” 

“It has a very long time,” Jenkins said, tucking his hands into his coat pockets. “Since i’ve wanted to tell anyone much of anything. Perhaps over tea.” 

“And pizza?” Ezekiel suggested. The young Librarian could not see it, but the immortal smiled.

“Tea and pizza. Weirder things have happened, as you might say. Good day, Mr. Jones.” And with that, he was gone. Ezekiel stayed standing alone in the theatre for a while. He stared at the door out of which Jenkins had gone, while the drone of some new documentary played around him. What, per se, was in the heart of an immortal man?


End file.
